Ensnared
by MythicMittens
Summary: Dark-ish Modern AU. Christine is a sex worker, trying to make it through college. Erik is a client of hers, growing more and more obsessed by the day. Unfortunately, her occupation and his past does not make for a smooth relationship.
1. An Introduction

**Summary:** Dark-ish Modern AU. Christine is a sex worker, trying to make it through college. Erik is a customer of hers, growing more and more obsessed by the day.

**A/N:** This is my first time writing fanfiction, especially Phantom related fiction in a really long time. I have an old account that I would prefer not to reveal, as they are really old and not that great. But, anyways, I would really appreciate any advice and reviews you guys could give me!

* * *

**An Introduction**

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, Christine did not want or need saving. In fact, she was rather happy with her life, her job, everything. People wondered why she chose this and not something else. It wasn't because she wasn't capable of a "normal" job. It was simply because she liked it. She liked her kind manager, Margie, with her nearly perpetual smile, she liked her co-workers, and she liked how it was a tight knit family between all of them. She had even made her best friend, Meg, through her occupation. She didn't want out, and she certainly wasn't trapped. Besides, the job was much more than just sex. It was a performance. You had to act, you had to know what to say and when to say it. She felt it was a fitting occupation for a future performer, as she often saw herself.

Most people might think that there would be a lot of fights and competition between the girls, but in truth, things like that happened very little. Most of them had their little niche to fill and their characters to play, all of which attracted different kinds of customers. For example, Meg was very petite and feminine, and liked to play an "innocent girl gone bad" sort of thing. Personally, Christine didn't like the kind of "macho" customers that attracted.

Christine had a significantly harder time finding what role she could best play. She considered it rather good practice for her acting abilities. She tried a classic seductress, but found herself unbelievable. Meg had outright laughed in her face when she practiced her routine on her. She tried to be a delicate lady but found that archetype much too constricting for what she wanted to do. What she ended up with, she really couldn't describe, but it was some kind of mixture of everything she had learned. She nurtured, she teased, she was kind and pretty, and it brought in the customers.

The only thing she truly disliked was how tiring the work was. She went to classes or had rehearsals for a few hours almost everyday, had a bit of time to sleep before she had to go to what they just liked to call "the Den." She only had a few days off then it was back to the routine again. She was so very tired. But she didn't think it could have turned out any other way, and she was alright with how things are. Besides, she attended a great school, payed all her bills, and she didn't hate her job like so many of her "normal" friends did. What more could she ask for?

Sighing and stretching, she looked up at the clock above the door. It was nearly four in the morning, a good time for her to call it a night. She barely bothered dressing, pulling a large coat over herself as she waved goodnight to the rest of the girls. The Den wasn't in the best part of town, but Margie had trained all the girls pretty well in self defense. Her car wasn't far away, and there seemed to be a short lull of activity, the only sound being a distant car alarm. She shoved her hands in her pockets, mostly staring at her feet. She kept staring at her feet until she accidentally ran into what seemed like a brick wall.

As she looked up, she saw that it was definitely not a brick wall. It was an extremely tall man, almost a foot taller than her. A nearby street light obscured any identifying features, making it so he seemed like a giant silhouette. She squinted slightly, swearing she could see a glow coming from his eyes. Remembering where she was, she quickly stepped out of the way. "Sorry, sir." She said quietly, meekly. He made no response, and she was nearly holding her breath. "Well, have a good evening... or morning?" She gave out an awkward laugh, moving to walk away. She finally let out that breath when he made no move to follow her or even react at all. She pulled her collar up further around her face, wishing she could get those eyes out of her mind.

* * *

Erik liked large cities. He didn't like them _because_ they were large, oh no. He liked them for the qualities they seemed to stir in people. People were quick, efficient, and most importantly, they didn't ask a lot of unnecessary questions. Most people were too busy to give second looks. And he was fond of that.

Erik especially liked the seedier parts of town. There, it was even more unlikely to get stared at, or stopped and questioned. There, everyone had their own agenda, and frankly, didn't give a fuck about who you were unless they had business with you. It was places like these where he could feel like a normal man. At least, more like one.

Still, he preferred to go out at night. People were still unpleasant to be around for him, even if slightly less unpleasant. Often, when he couldn't sleep he would take a cab and walk aimlessly around, the cold air making him feel alive.

This time, it seemed that there was nearly no one on the street. Because of this, he paid significantly less attention to what he was doing, looking up at the few stars just managing to make it through the massive light pollution. His attention wasn't returned to wear he was going until a girl bumped into him, giving him a slight jolt.

Quickly, he examined her. She was very small compared to him, and unmistakably beautiful. She was disheveled, though. Make up worn and smeared, curly hair flying every which way. Somehow it managed to make her more attractive. He froze, staring down at her. The poor girl looked terrified, and for some reason, that hurt.

It wasn't until her soft voice cut through the cold that he realized his whole body was tense to the point of pain. "Sorry, sir." She said, and he wanted to reply. He wanted to say a billion things but he couldn't. He barely heard her next words over the argument going on in his head.

And then, it seemed, she was gone as quickly as she appeared. He shook his head and began walking again, trying to convince himself that this wouldn't matter. He didn't even know who she was.

But... did he want to?


	2. Inquiries

**A/N:** Thanks for all the nice reviews! I'd certainly like to hear more from you guys!

* * *

**Inquiries**

* * *

Erik cursed himself. He hadn't slept for two days since his encounter with that lovely brunette. All his life he had tried to convince himself that appearances didn't matter, but now he knew that they did, very much. How else could he have become so infatuated with a girl whose name he didn't even know?

For the first day, he simply tried to forget about it. He'd had passing infatuations before. But the more he tried to forget about her, the more she wormed her way into his mind. He tried playing nearly a dozen different instruments in order to forget her. All of it just seemed stale and lifeless.

Somewhere after noon on the second day, he started cursing her as well. How dare she infiltrate his mind, his music? She had practically destroyed the world he had built up for himself. He stood from his chair so abruptly that it sent a vase on a nearby table tumbling to the ground. He swore and went to go get a broom. He sighed as he swept the bits of colored glass up, realizing it was incredibly stupid to blame this as of yet nameless girl. A girl who probably didn't even remember him, and if she did, he wasn't sure he wanted to know what she thought of him.

Eventually, he resigned himself to the fact that this infatuation, or whatever it was wasn't going to just disappear. That meant he was going to have to do something about it, a thought that filled him with more fear than he could remember feeling in quite a long time.

He knew it wouldn't be hard to figure out who she was when he put his mind to it. He knew that getting the courage up to approach her would be much, much harder. He already knew that she was a so called "working girl" though he didn't truly want to admit it to himself. He knew he was a very possessive man, and the thought of other men touching her made his blood boil.

He felt like he was setting himself up for several levels of crushing disappointment, each worse than the last. He was most afraid that he was building up some mythical, perfect woman in his mind that she could have no possibility of achieving. But, even if it all went horribly wrong, he needed to know her. At the very least, maybe it would humble him enough that it would never happen again and he would be able to resign himself to a life alone with music and his cat.

He sat back in his plush chair, his hands gripping the armrest tight. He tried to remember every detail he could about that night, but found that she left an intoxicating fog in his memory. He sighed, knowing this was no way healthy. After a bit of time, he could remember what direction she had been coming from and the street she was on. He contacted his sources, all of which seemed incredibly shocked that _he_ was asking about a _brothel._ They were lucky that he was more focused on the information than being angry with them.

Eventually, he learned that the nearest brothel was affectionately known as "The Den." It seemed like his best bet. If not, they were likely to have information as to who she was.

He spent the rest of the afternoon trying to straighten himself out. He donned a new suit; his signature black tie on black shirt with a black jacket. At least no one could ever say he had a bad taste in clothing. He slicked back his black hair, thankful that it had been left undisturbed by whatever malady claimed his face.

Soon, it was late enough that he could reasonably depart, though after he arrived, he could barely remember the details of how he got there. He examined the exterior of the building, trying to gather the courage to enter. It was an unmarked set of stairs leading down to a rather simple door. Unless you knew what you were looking for, it was rather unimpressive. Eventually, he slid through the door, taking a breath. He felt like a smitten schoolboy.

The Den was simply a long hallway, with many doors on either side. The lighting was low, and warm, coming from several lamps along the burgundy walls. At the end was a desk, and a dark skinned woman who seemed very interested in looking over records of some sort. Most of the doors were closed, and thankfully, the rooms seemed to be soundproofed. A few girls stood outside the doors, talking. They stopped and looked up when he passed, a small blonde girl giving a flirtatious smile with a glint in her eyes that said she was excited at the prospect of a new client.

"Hey, fellah. How's it going?" She said, but Erik paid her no mind. She seemed to pout in dismay as he passed her by, whispering things about him when she thought he was out of earshot.

Still, he walked on to the desk, focused on his task. If he didn't ask now, he would never gain the nerve to do it later. The woman at the desk barely gave him a second glance. "I'm looking for a woman." He said, his tone betraying no emotion.

She looked up at him. "Yeah, thanks for being so specific." She said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

He blinked slightly, not used to having someone talk to him like that. Most everyone he worked with was so terrified of him that they barely spoke out of turn. "I apologize. What I meant was-" He broke off in the middle of his sentence when he saw her, coming out of one of the two black doors that were on either side of the desk.

* * *

Christine had arrived just recently, coming through the back door that led to the dressing room and common room behind the desk. Slipping off her coat and hanging it in her locker, she tried to decide what to wear. She didn't have too many clients tonight, for which she was thankful. Her vocal instructor had kept her later than usual and she felt exhausted.

Eventually she decided on a lacy black brassiere and a sleek, black high-waisted skirt. It accentuated her hips but made it a bit difficult to walk. She slid onto the chair, beginning her makeup in a routine that was almost second nature by now. She was nineteen, and had been in the business for a little over a year. The scholarship she had earned had still not been enough to pay for all her expenses. The economy had been so bad that, with no experience on her resume, she was unable to find anything. There was no way she was going to give up her dream just because of something like that... She started with online work, but wasn't getting nearly enough clients to keep herself afloat. Luckily for her, Margie had found her through the online work and offered her a job. Things had really picked up for her after that.

Just as she was finishing with her hair, she heard an unfamiliar voice coming from the lobby area. She could tell by how he spoke that he must be a singer. A voice that beautiful had to come from talent and training. Curious, she slipped out into the lobby, wondering who this man was. Her breath caught in her throat when she realized it was the man she had ran into a couple nights ago. She examined him fully now, able to see that the reason he had looked like a giant shadow was because he was literally covered in head to toe black. Even his hair was black, and his face was covered with what seemed to be a custom made, matte black mask. He was, to be completely honest, extremely intimidating. She could feel her cheeks flushing as he seemed to look at her like she was the only woman in the world.

"Uh, hey..." She finally said, breaking the silence. "Can I help you?" She was used to be scrutinized, judged for her appearance. But for some reason she desperately wanted to know what he was thinking of her.

He nodded softly, taking a step forward. "I just wanted to speak with you."

Christine exhaled, calming herself as she realized this was just business. She let her character slowly come over her. "Well, my time isn't free." She commented, an edge to her tone. He seemed... too interested. Most clients were led here, heard from a friend or something. It was honestly frightening that he had saw her on the street and successfully found out where she worked.

"Of course." He said, and she swore she could see a smile on his lips even through the mask. "I am quite ready to pay whatever you need."

"Well, I'm completely booked tonight..." It was a lie, and she was worried he would know it. Which was stupid, because he was just one prospective client. What did he matter?

"I can pay double, triple, whatever." His tone was casual, with a hint of pleading.

She was completely shocked by that offer, her eyes widening as she glanced to Margie, who had been mostly silent throughout their conversation. Margie gave a look that said she was ready to step in if needed. "No, I can't accept that. My regulars would get upset if I just blew them off like that." Still, there was something about it. He was so determined to see her, she couldn't help but feel flattered. But there was still a voice in the back of her head warning her that he might be a serial killer or something like that. She bit her lip, trying to think of a solution. "We could set something up a few days from now? I believe I have an opening." On the desk, there were stacks of business cards with the girl's (fake) names, and their work numbers. She took her card, and handed it to him, her fingers brushing his.

With this, he seemed satisfied, and to her surprised, bowed and left. She let out a breath that she didn't remember holding in. She leaned slightly against the counter, hoping she didn't do anything she'd regret. Obsessions were common in this industry. In fact, they were good for business. But every girl had a sense for when it went from good, to dangerous, and without knowing much about this man it could be anywhere in between.

"Listen, if he so much as looks at you in a way that you don't like, tell me. I'll handle it." Margie said, putting a hand on her arm. She nodded meekly, returning to the dressing room, completely unsure of what she felt.


	3. Conversations

**A/N:** I will say, this is the start of where it gets a bit more raunchy. I don't think I will really go all out with any of the scenes, just because I'm not great at writing it, but considering the basis of the story there will be plenty of references.

* * *

**Conversations**

* * *

Erik pondered on how a period of a few days could seem to go by so fast and drag on forever at the same time. He supposed it was just one of those mysteries of life you're never really supposed to figure out.

He didn't sleep much, but if he was being honest, that was true for most of the time. At least now he had a reason for it. Half the time he was angry at himself for being so love-struck (which he wasn't even sure was the proper term. Was he in love?) and the other half he was just delighted that she had accepted. She had seemed afraid, but he knew he was intimidating. He just hoped that it would go away if she got to know him.

At this point, he didn't even want sex. Well, actually, that wasn't true. He very much wanted her. How could he not? But more than that, he wanted her to want him. And not just acting like it, truly wanting him. And so he would wait. It would certainly be interesting when he told their children that he had had to pay for their first date.

Oh God, was he already thinking about children? It was absurd, the feelings she brought up in him. It had seen like a simple fact that he would not have children before now. He took off his mask to massage his temples. He was certain this whole ordeal would drive him even more mad than he currently was.

At the very least, his music had returned to him. Seeing her had been like a breath of fresh air for his muse, and he had been composing with new vigor. He did notice, however, that his pieces were significantly lighter and softer than what he usually wrote. No matter what he tried, all his music led back to her. He found he didn't really mind that.

At the very least he could say he was doing better than when he had started out. Slipping his hand into his breast pocket, he pulled out the thin piece of paper it held. He ran his thumb over the paper of the business card, staring at the letters on the card as if to engrave them into his mind. Rebecca Klimt. Sort of an odd fake name for a sex worker to have, he thought. Usually they were laden with saucy puns or other such references. Just another way in which she shone, he supposed.

* * *

Christine had been waiting for this day, a fluttery feeling developing whenever she thought about it. She couldn't tell if it was fear or excitement, or maybe a mixture of the both. Worst case scenario he turned out to be a total creep and she could leave and keep the large amount of money due to The Den's no refund policy. Best case scenario, she got herself a very wealthy and devoted client. For what he was paying she could take a week off after tonight, which she felt she very much deserved.

Still, it was more than the money. She felt generally interested in him. He was certainly not an average client, and she supposed she could due for some change. She felt like she had been stuck in a routine for so long and she was dying for something to change it up.

She was already dressed and ready for the time being. She decided to wear a soft lavendar bodice and fluffy skirt tonight. She had little doubt that he'd be wearing black like the other times she had seen him, and figured he could do for a little color.

Later, she found strangely that all her emotions had faded away as she worked herself into her character. She found it was easier to be Rebecca than it was to be Christine at times. She was already in her assigned room, a sparsely furnished thing. There was a bed, obviously, one softer and much bigger than the one she had at home. The comforter was a dark blue with a pattern of white vines snaking across them. The walls were a warm gray, the carpet black. Other than that, there were two light fixtures, a chair, and a closet that held various outfits, but other than that there wasn't much. Most people weren't really interested on the decor anyways.

A soft knock came at the door and she smoothed her clothing out, posing herself the best she could. "Come in." She replied, just as soft as the knock had came. He entered, and though she had been expecting him, she still had to refrain from gasping. It would be a while before she would be used to his appearance, she had to admit.

"Good evening," he remarked, seeming casual on first glance. Christine was better trained than that, though. She knew body language, and she could tell that he was rather nervous. That wasn't too uncommon, especially for the first meeting.

She smiled, standing from the bed. For a man who looked so intimidating, he was acting like a cornered kitten. She walked closer slowly. "Indeed it is..." She purred, taking his silk tie in hand and pulling him gently forward towards the bed. He went quite willingly. Still moving rather slow, slinking along, she switched them so that he was facing her with his back to the bed. She pushed him down gently, and as soon as he was seated on the bed, she crawled on top of his lap, one of her legs strategically placed between his. She kissed along his neck, earning a groan before he pulled away. She frowned, confused, and pulled away in turn.

"I'd rather not." The words were short, and forced, as if he didn't truly want to say them. She stood, straightening out her skirt. She would almost have been offended if she hadn't seen that she had a definite affect on him.

"Alright, it's your money." She remarked, placing her hands on her hips. "What do you want to do then?" She tried to hide how skeptical she felt.

"I'd like to talk." He replied, looking at her with a slight tilt to his head.

"Okay..." It wasn't that uncommon. Some men just wanted to get down to business, some men wanted to get to know her first. Sex was simple, though. This was more difficult. She plopped down on the bed, leaning against the headboard. "Talk, then." She crossed her legs at her ankles, having kicked off her white platform heels. Damn things were killing her feet anyways.

He stood, taking the lone chair from against the wall and dragging it to the end of the bed, facing her. "You haven't asked my name yet." He remarked.

"Nor did I really intend to. Guys usually give a name if they want me to know it. Otherwise I tend not to ask." She commented, examining his mask. In the low light, his eyes seemed to glow a dull yellow. She figured it had to be a trick of the light.

"It's Erik." He supplied. He definitely wanted her to know it.

"Erik." She repeated. "It fits you."

"Is that so?" He remarked lightly. There was a short pause before his next statement. "You didn't ask about the mask, either." He gestured upwards at himself briefly.

She had to admit, she was curious. "Well, I've dealt with some pretty weird fetishes before, so-"

He cut her off with a dark chuckle. "I assure you, it's not a fetish."

Christine raised her eyebrow, now even more intrigued. "Then what is it?"

"I'd prefer not to speak of it in such lovely company." The reply came, confusing her even more. She got a little annoyed that he would bring it up only to leave all questions unanswered, but she reminded herself that her business was a business of discretion. You made more money keeping secrets. "I will only say that I would very much prefer it stay on."

She nodded. "Noted." There was another brief silence as they seemed to examine each other. Even behind the mask, Christine could tell what kind of look he was giving her. She had seen it many times before, and quite honestly, was getting sick of it. He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. "Let me guess: you're wondering how a girl like me got a job like this." She had to refrain from rolling her eyes, though she was sure her tone told a tale. He seemed surprised that she had guess so accurately. "It's not like you think. It never is. I don't have a kid at home to support or anything like that."

"Then why?" He asked.

"Why not?" Was her response. Perhaps it was childish, but she was bored of the men who wished to rescue her and feel like the valiant hero when she had no problems with her lifestyle.

He didn't want to push the subject, so he changed it. "Well then, let's return to names. How did you choose yours?" He asked.

She shrugged. "Gustav Klimt was one of my favorite artists in Art Appreciation, and I just liked the name Rebecca. It's unique and memorable, so I stuck with it."

Erik seemed surprised with this new information. "Art Appreciation? So, you're..."

"In college?" She cut him off, still a little irritated. "Does that shock you that a prostitute such as myself could be," she imitated a gasp, _"educated?" _Perhaps it was a little too much, but she knew the stereotypes all too well. Plus, she had a feeling he could take it better than some of her other clients.

He shook his head. "I apologize, my dear. I only meant to inquire as to what your major is."

Oh, well now she felt a little silly. "I'm studying music education, but I'd love to perform if I could before I settle into teaching."

Well, now he was downright giddy. "I myself am a composer. What do you play?" He asked, his tone soft but barely concealing his excitement.

"I sing, mostly, but I'm alright on the piano. I'm classically trained but I'm much too in love with stage musicals." Taking about her loves had greatly calmed her, and she found herself smiling without even realizing it. "And you? Would you have composed anything I would know?"

"Well, I've composed the theme for a few popular television shows, but everything I do is under a false name. I'm a rather solitary man, and while I love my music, I do not love the attention." He commented. She felt a bit of her enthusiasm fade as the skepticism reemerged. He appeared to notice as he added, "Perhaps I could play for you sometime."

"That would be rather difficult, as I can assure you there is no piano here." She remarked dryly.

"You could always come to my apartment."

She could tell it was a jest, so she smiled. "Nice try." She had to admit, she was enjoying herself much more than she thought. Christine couldn't tell at what point her character faded away and she became just Christine again, but for once slipping out of character didn't bother her. It was almost frightening how fast he had moved from the guy she bumped into to a man she actually enjoyed talking to. Still, she wasn't complaining. However, she did feel a little silly to be sitting in lingerie with a man she had not had sex with, speaking so casually. Briefly, she questioned his motives before diving back into the conversation. She yawned briefly, covering her mouth delicately with her hand, knowing very well that she was not attractive when she yawned. Still, Erik seemed to smile from beneath the mask.

"Perhaps you should sleep. I can't imagine attending college and having such a demanding job." He offered softly.

She looked at him a little funny. "It's only been a couple hours and you paid for the night..." Of course that didn't seem to really matter considering they were only talking.

"I don't mind. Money I have an abundance of, but I do believe there is only one you." He remarked.

"Alright..." She said warily. She only began to believe him when he stood and moved to the door. She stood after him, and he opened the door for him. He was definitely the most gentlemanly of her clients.

He took her hand gently, placing a masked kiss on the back of her hand. "Thank you for this night, my dear. I have enjoyed it." He then bowed, like he had the first time, and she found it endearing now. She smiled as he turned and left, only now realizing that Meg had been outside her room, watching.

She approached with a look that meant she was about to ask about every little detail. "How was he?" Meg asked, purposely trying to be as lewd as possible.

"We didn't... He didn't want to." She replied. "We just talked."

"I've had a few shy ones too. Takes a bit but they're usually the best, I find." She smirked, one hand on her hips.

Christine found herself staring at the wall. "No, I think he legitimately wanted to get to know me..."

Meg laughed in reply, a high pitched giggle. "I didn't peg you for naïve, Christine."

She bit her lip, nodding slightly. "You're probably right." She sighed and turned to walk to the dressing room, ready to go home but not so sure on how sound her sleep would be.


	4. Speculation

A/N: There won't really be a "Raoul" character in this story, because his character is mostly represented by Christine's other clients. So sorry to those who are very fond of him!

* * *

**Speculation**

* * *

When Erik arrived home, his cat, Ayesha, was waiting by the door. He patted her softly on the head, amused. She certainly seemed to realize that she was no longer the only lady in his life. She weaved between his legs, rubbing her cheeks against his legs and leaving a trail of fur on his black trousers as she did. He smiled and picked her up, earning a small yelp from her before she settled into his arms. He made his way to his favorite leather seat, scratching just below her ear as he went over and over the events that had unfolded earlier.

He never dreamed it could have gone that well. He wasn't sure what his expectations had been, but he knew they had been high. And yet, she had still managed to exceed everyone of them. She was intelligent, she was sweet, and most of all, she was musically inclined. And oh, was she beautiful. He sighed, scratching under Ayesha's chin as she rolled about on his lap. He had gone in with honest intentions, but he had let his attraction get the best of him and let it lead father than he had intended. But he knew it would be much better to wait until she truly wanted him back.

He stood, placing Ayesha back on the chair as he looked at the clock. It was late, and for once, he felt like he might get some sleep tonight. It had been certainly the best day he had had in years, if not decades. He tried not to get too hopeful, however; if life had taught him anything it was that good could be taken away easily and hope was pointless. Still, he tried to enjoy these moments while he had them.

He readied himself, finally slipping between the black sheets of his often unused bed. He did not have a regular sleep pattern, and often he fell asleep working on something at his desk or in his chair, if he even slept at all.

Suddenly and cruelly, a part of his brain reminded him of everything wrong with the situation. He sat up with a groan, running a hand through his hair. She was as close to perfect as any one person could be, and if he had believed in soul mates he would have considered her his. But that was just the problem. She wasn't _his,_ and he doubted she would be. He loved her, absolutely, but in this moment he chided himself for believing he would be anything more than a client. Would she ever want to see him when there was not a transaction involved? And for that matter, did she even want to see him now? He growled, a low rumble, and clutched his temples. He wanted desperately to keep to his idealism. He would not let his dream fall apart now. If the only way he could see her was an exchange of money, then so be it. Anything to see her.

_But you are not the only one seeing her. _His mind betrayed. And that was true; he was not the only man. He had tried not to dwell on it because it brought nothing but pain and rage to him. But now he could think of nothing else but the hands of other men upon her, holding her as he should be. He clenched his fists tight, his nails pressing small crescents into his palm.

What could he do, though? It was her occupation and her means of independence. He could tell that she would not so willingly give it up. He would do anything if he could have her as his own, if they could belong exclusively to each other.

His heart rate calmed as he began to think, once again reassuring himself that it could be done. One way or another, it would work out. It had to. He laid back against the pillows, continuing to think for several hours before he finally drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Christine found herself smiling more often than usual.

At first, she didn't catch it. It was actually Meg that had first pointed it out, teasing her. After that she started to notice it more and more. It wasn't particularly any one event or anything, it was more a general thing. She wasn't an unhappy girl but she found herself smiling at everyone. The postwoman who delivered her mail, her neighbor, and even at her more rude customers. She was used to keeping to herself so part of it was a little uncomfortable, but the other part was fantastic.

She knew, though she would not admit to herself, the reason for this slight change. She scolded herself many times over it, telling herself that getting emotionally involved with clients was a great way to ruin your business. She could maybe hope for an out of work relationship, but she had no way of knowing if he truly felt the way he acted. He might even be married, making her dream of an out of work relationship defunct.

At the end of the day, she told herself, he was a rich client and she could do having a rich client. Nothing more could be done until more evidence presented itself. That, of course, didn't stop her from thinking about him.

Meg slammed her hand on the table next to Christine, causing her to jolt up in surprise. "I came here to eat and shop, not to watch you fall asleep all over the food." Meg teased, gesturing at the meal in front of them. Meg had almost completely finished her burger and had made short work of her fries, but Christine's orange chicken had barely been touched.

"Oh, sorry..." She apologized, picking up the plastic fork and began poking at the food again. They were at the food court of a rather large mall. Meg wanted a few new outfits for work, and she had dragged Christine along. Christine enjoyed shopping, but nowhere near as much as Meg. Shopping with her was a four hour affair, at least. Meg simply rolled her eyes as Christine made a hearty attempt at devouring her food. Eventually, the two called it good enough and disposed of their left overs.

"So, where do you want to go first?" Meg inquired, snaking her arm around Christine's.

Christine gave a little half smile and a knowing look. "Why are you bothering to ask me. We're going wherever you want no matter what I do. I could chain myself to a post and you'd still drag me and the post along with you."

Meg didn't seem offended. Instead, she laughed. "Well, by the end of the day it would be one fashionable pole." She started off towards her favorite clothing store. They floated past most the main clothes, and towards the underwear and lingerie area. Meg rooted through everything, eventually pulling out something lacy and colorful. "Do you think my clients would like this?" She asked, much louder than Christine would prefer.

"Meg, please keep it down! I'd prefer that everyone in the area not know our profession." Christine said a bit worriedly, happy to see that there was no one in the immediate area. She wasn't ashamed of what she did, but many other people were and she hated being looked down upon for her occupation, considering she didn't think it changed any fundamental part of who she was. She was human too.

Meg scoffed. "Speak for yourself. I don't care who knows." She threw the garment over her shoulder as she continued to root for more.

"Well, I do." Christine said, a bit defensively as she crossed her arms over her chest. "I want to be a teacher someday and it's already hard enough."

Meg made a face of disgust. "I don't understand how you could want that." Meg had never been rather secretive about the fact that she didn't like children. Christine just smiled in response, looking at the racks to the side of her.

At the very end of the multiple store saga, Christine had come out with a matching lacy black and red lingerie set with a sheer skirt to go over it, a few pairs of jeans and a couple assorted tops. Meg, on the other hand, had four bags swinging against her legs. Christine was exhausted, and quite ready to head home for a bit before she had to work. Besides, she was already excited for a visit from her favorite client.

* * *

It was a few more days before Erik couldn't take anymore. He had begun seeing his love every night that she was on. It was nothing as intense as their first meeting, little hour sessions here and there, but he loved them. He looked forward to them all day, for a glimpse at her and to hear her voice. What they talked about didn't matter, it was hearing her voice and being rewarded with her musical laugh when he said something witty.

Still, he hadn't asked for sex. He was proud of his reserve, especially knowing she wouldn't refuse. But when she leaned forward, engaged in the conversation with a gleam in her eyes that said that she truly cared, it became very hard to resist.

Today, he came much to early. Whether he did it on purpose or if he was simply over eager, he did not know. But it made for a rather uncomfortable close encounter.

As he entered, still in the shadows, he saw another man exit his beloved's room, kissing her on the cheek as he left. He was a short man, shorter than her even without her heels. His hair was brown and mussed up, but with obvious traces of hair gel remaining. His teeth were a bright white, and all of this was enough for Erik to decide that he totally despised this man. He slipped back out the door, anger fogging his mind. He could tell that he was about to do something he'd regret, and yet he couldn't stop it.

He crossed the street to view the man from a distance, staying in the shadows between the two pools of light the streetlights created. The man walked briskly through the night air, and Erik began to follow. He continued following until the convenience of an alley was upon them. He quickly approached the man, his long legs making the journey in a few short steps. Before the man even knew he was there, he put a rough hand on his shoulder, spinning him around. As soon as they were facing each other, he grabbed him by the tie, slamming him against the brick wall.

"Oh h-hey man, keep it cool, my wallet's in my pocket, take what you want!" The man pleaded as he squirmed against Erik's grip.

He narrowed his eyes in anger, barring his teeth. "I do not want your money." The man seemed to stop for a moment, confused. "I want you to stay away from... Rebecca. Find yourself another girl." The words were dripping with hostility.

"Y-You're crazy!" He exclaimed, beginning to struggle again. The man pressed his hand against Erik's mask, trying to push him away. He merely succeed in tearing off the mask. For a moment there was shock, and silence. Erik took advantage of that to cover the man's nose and mouth with his hands, pressing hard. He struggled wildly now, managing to dig his fingernails into Erik's neck. An impartial part of his mind remarked on what a man could do on fear and adrenaline was astounding. The partial side of this mind caused him to hiss in pain as the blood dripped down, staining his collar. Eventually, though after the man had given him a few good kicks to the rib, he went limp, unconscious. Erik removed his grip over the man's face and lowered him to the ground, knowing he should be fine. He picked up his mask from where it had fallen, replacing it hastily.

Still, he was a little less than fine. The wounds on his neck were bleed profusely, though they weren't that deep, and he was winded from the blows to his ribs. He hadn't been in a fight in quite some time, and it was showing.

He didn't want to return to his love like this, but he certainly couldn't call a cab. So he made his way back, knowing full well he was about to give her a shock.

She looked pleased to see him, which he appreciated until she noticed his wounds and disheveled appearance. She rushed to him, placing an arm on his. "Erik, what happened?" She asked, nothing but concern in her voice. He would have been pleased if not for the various painful sensations.

"I believe I was mugged..." He stated flatly as she helped him into her room. A few of the other girls had poked their heads out but had gone no further. Christine led him to the bed, sitting him down upon it.

She looked skeptical for a second, but her concern took over and she rushed off to find a first aid kit. "Wait here." She said, rushed, and left the room briefly. She came back with several bandaged, antibacterial cream, an icepack, and a wet washcloth She handed him the icepack, which he then pressed to his ribs, wincing a bit. She took the exposed edge of his chin and used it to expose the cuts along his neck. She began dabbing at it with the wet washcloth, and it became clear that they were not serious in any way. Still, she cleaned them and bandaged them properly, her fingers lingering perhaps a bit too long on the edge of his mask. She looked into his eyes for another moment before she took her hand away.

"Now, is there anything else I can do?" She asked, placing her hands over his and giving them a little squeeze. She could not deny she cared about him now.

"I..." He pulled away his hands, gently. "I believe it would be best if I went home now." He said politely.

Christine had to restrain a feeling of disappointment. "Yes, of course... I understand."

Erik stopped to examine her a moment, wondering if he saw genuine emotion in her eyes. "Thank you very much for taking care of me, my dear. I hope to see you soon." He nodded, leaving. He wanted very much to stay, but he felt ashamed to be in her presence after what he had done in her name.

Christine stood there, watching him leave for another moment before she began cleaning up the supplies.


End file.
